


Such Sweet Sorrow

by ephemeraltea



Series: I Burn, I Pine, I Perish [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Sex, Everything is a Disaster, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Rogue Inquisitor - Freeform, or the attempt at one, shouts from the rooftops: DORIAN PAVUS IS A TOP, the Inquisitor is a mess, which is apparently my new favorite tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-08-23 23:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16628846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ephemeraltea/pseuds/ephemeraltea
Summary: "This is all Varric’s fault, Tre thought unfairly as he sank to the ground in front of the discarded rings, trying unsuccessfully to stop his tears as he cradled his stump of an arm. If Varric hadn’t put it into Cassandra's head, who put it into my head, this never would have happened."Or, the Inquisitor decides to propose, but then finds out that Dorian is leaving. Angst ensues.





	1. Chapter 1

_This is all Varric’s fault_ , Tre thought unfairly as he sank to the ground in front of the discarded rings, trying unsuccessfully to stop his tears as he cradled his stump of an arm. _If Varric hadn’t put it into Cassandra's head, who put it into my head, this never would have happened._

* * *

It had started when Tre had gone to speak with Cassandra on the veranda. She had been a nervous wreck as he approached.

“I’m talking about _marriage!_ ” Cassandra had exclaimed exasperatedly, after a series of miscommunications between her and Tre.

“Marriage?” asked Tre in disbelief.

“Of course, Dorian being Tevinter will raise eyebrows across the empire, but if that is your…”

Tre stared openly at Cassandra, his eyebrows raised.

“You’re not proposing,” said Cassandra in realization. “To anyone.”

Cassandra stood up and began to pace angrily.

“I am going to _kill_ Varric. Why do I believe everything he says? _Why?”_

“He said I was going to propose?”

“He...mentioned a proposal. I suppose I filled in the blanks. Or he did this on purpose. That dwarf gets entirely too much joy from my discomfort.”

Tre had been completely caught off guard, but nonetheless there was a warm glow in his chest as he thought about Dorian.

“I might get married. I’ve thought about it,” said Tre. It wasn’t entirely true, but it wasn’t a lie either. He had thought very often about what it would be like to spend the rest of his life with Dorian. He hadn’t thought of marriage, per se, but that was only because marriage in the traditional sense wouldn’t quite apply to them, or be recognized in Tevinter. And if Tre had realized anything over the passed month, it was how much he desperately wanted Dorian to be in his life every day. He had missed Dorian so much while he had been away in Tevinter. Tre looked up at Cassandra, realizing that he had been smiling to himself. Cassandra smiled back.

“I suspected as much,” she said. “Being Inquisitor has brought you good things, many good things. But only a few have been by your choice. Take what happiness you can from those, and do not let them go. That is all I meant to say. Advice from a friend, for the days to come.”

* * *

Tre felt like a live current was running through his veins as he made his way through the crowd to find Dorian. He caught sight of Dorian as he was engaged in a conversation with an Orlesian Soldier. Dorian looked stunning in new armor with gold detailing. He was facing the soldier with his arms crossed, a stern look on his face.

“Orlais is on your side, Lord Pavus,” the soldier was saying. “The Inquisition’s support is not a thing to lose lightly.”

“Which is why the Orlesian court is circling it with a net and collar?” Dorian said, cool but charming, refusing as always to pull his punches. Tre couldn’t help the smile that spread on his face -- and as if he could sense the smile, Dorian looked up, their eyes meeting. Tre felt his stomach flip. He couldn’t believe how much he had _missed_ Dorian.

“But you’ll have to excuse me!” said Dorian, his eyes never leaving Tre’s. “I see an old friend I must greet.”

Tre tried not to trip over his feet, tried to walk at a normal pace and not to bridge those last few feet between them in leaping strides.

“Amatus!” said Dorian as he reached Tre. “Wading through all the pomp and circumstance, I see.”

Well, that wouldn’t do at all.

“You’re back after being away in Tevinter for a month, and this is how you greet me?” said Tre, barely stopping himself from kareening into Dorian.

“I have an apology ready,” said Dorian in a low voice.

He swept Tre into his arms, one hand on the small of his back, one on the nape of his neck, kissing him passionately, and it felt like coming home. It was more than Tre was expecting -- Dorian wasn’t usually one for public displays of affection. Maybe Dorian really had missed Tre as much as he had missed Dorian.

“What have you learned about this council?” asked Tre a little breathlessly as they parted.

“Orlais wants the Inquisition tamed, Ferelden wants it gone, the Chantry meddles, and Tevinter sends but one ambassador,” said Dorian with all the usual flourish. “That’s me, by the way. A reward for my ‘interest in the south.’ Thankfully, ‘Ambassador Pavus’ is a token appointment. Call on me as you like.”

“Very gracious of you, sir,” said Tre, leaning in and playing with Dorian’s collar.

“Oh, now _that_ I could get used to,” said Dorian, smirking.

“Call on you as I like, you say?” said Tre, and Dorian nodded. “What about in the storage room under the stairs in ten minutes?”

Dorian’s smirk transformed into a smolder.

* * *

In the storage room a short time later (it had been nothing for Tre to pick the lock), held against the wall by Dorian, Tre felt in complete bliss. _Yes,_ Tre thought, as Dorian dropped to his knees. _Yes_ , he thought, as his trousers were slid down to his ankles. _Yes_ , he thought, as Dorian took him in his mouth. _This is what I want, for now and for always._

“I love you,” Dorian said after they had finished dressing themselves a while later, kissing Tre once more quickly before slipping back out into the courtyard.

Tre leaned against the wall once more, breathing deeply and closing his eyes. When he exited the courtyard, it was to go find the blacksmith, hoping the man knew how to make rings.

* * *

After being assured by the blacksmith that it would be an honor to meet his request, Tre made the rounds of his other Inquisition companions. He had an improvised spa day with Vivienne, delighted in watching Cole play spirit matchmaker to Krem and Maryden, had a raucous celebration of The Iron Bull’s birthday, and spent a good quarter of an hour playing fetch with Cullen’s new dog. The most surprising and most touching moment for Tre, though, came after a rousing round of pranks with Sera, when she sat him down for a drink and made him an offer that caught him completely off guard.

“What do you think, Inquisitor?” she asked, as an anonymous few dropped their red tokens onto the table. “Want to run some rooftops as a Jenny?”

For Tre, it was no question.

“Well, all I have to say is, call me ‘Red Frigging Jenny.’” Tre raised his glass in a toast. “To all my friends!”

“Always and ever, Inquisitor,” said Sera, knocking her glass against his. “Always and ever.”

“C’mon, you lot,” called Bull, clearly already very drunk from his birthday celebration, nearly crushing Krem and Grim as they supported his hulking form. “The party’s this way!”

“You go on,” said Tre, finishing his drink. “I’m right behind you.”

Tre circled back to the blacksmith, who presented Tre with the two newly forged rings, made of a simple iron, but marked with a delicate pattern of intertwining flames.

“More intricate work than I’m usually tasked with,” said the blacksmith. “I hope they’re to your liking.”

“They’re perfect,” said Tre. They still felt warm in his hand, and somehow heavier than he expected, although he may have been assigning them a metaphorical weight. He placed the rings carefully in the pocket of his dress coat, paid the blacksmith generously, and left to join the others at the party.

Tre found the group surrounding the couches in the courtyard while Varric was in the middle of a toast.

“As the most eloquent dwarf you know, Sparkles --”

“Speech! Speech!” interrupted Sera. “Way too much speech.”

Dorian met Tre’s eye for the briefest of moments before looking away quickly -- nervously. _Something’s wrong._

“Varric,” said Dorian quickly, “there’s really no need...”

“What’s going on?” asked Tre, looking around to the others. Sera was drinking heavily from her goblet, Cole was standing off to the side awkwardly, and Bull had managed to pass out completely on the ground. Tre looked back to Dorian and saw that his expression was one of barely concealed panic.

“Inquisitor! You’re just in time!” said Varric, just noticing Tre. Tre could tell by his lack of volume control that Varric was at least a few drinks in, and oblivious to the general atmosphere of the rest of the group. He turned back to face Dorian, merrily raising his glass.

“Sparkles, the Imperium doesn’t deserve you. Or want you. It may even kill you. But we’ll miss you, if it counts.”

It took the moment of the silence that followed for Tre to realize the full implications of Varric’s words, and when he did he felt a wheel of emotions spin through him, landing eventually on anger. Tre glared so sharply at Dorian that he saw the mage flinch, his expression full of sadness and concern, before turning sharp himself and scowling at Varric. It was a look full of enough venom that Varric, even in his drunken state, finally caught on.

“Aaaand you didn’t know. Okay folks, time to take the party elsewhere.”

“Tama never wanted any, I swear…” muttered Bull as he snored on the ground.

“Err, leave him,” said Varric awkwardly, ushering the others away.

Dorian turned and walked a little distance away. Tre, his blood boiling and his throat tight, followed.

“It’s true,” said Dorian heavily as he turned to face Tre. “I couldn’t stay away from Tevinter forever. I’m leaving as soon as the Exalted Council is done.”

“But you weren’t going to tell me that, or discuss it with me first?” Tre said with an obvious catch in his voice.

“I didn’t want you to find out like this,” said Dorian, and he sounded sincere. “Frankly I’ve been dreading this conversation, but here it is. My father is dead. Assassinated, I believe. I received notice this morning: A perversely cheerful letter congratulating me on assuming his seat in the Magisterium. We only met a few times while I was home. He didn’t say anything about keeping me as his heir. This ‘ambassadorship’...his doing, I’m told. He must have wanted me away when the trouble began. I _have_ to go back.”

“What of us?” said Tre. He knew his first reaction should have been to the news of Dorian’s father, but the rings were heavy in his pocket. Tre felt ill. “This is it, then?”

“Nonsense,” said Dorian quickly. “There will _always_ be an ‘us.’ We’ll just be...farther apart, for a time.”

Tre looked down at the ground, the weight of the reality of the situation washing over him.

“Now, now don’t pout. They’ll put that expression on a statue, and then you’ll be sorry.”

“You think this is funny?”

“Nothing about this is funny. I _am_ sorry, for what it’s worth.”

“I know it was complicated, but...I’m sorry about your father.”

“Thank you,” said Dorian. “It still doesn’t feel real.”

Normally, there wouldn’t be so much space between them. Tre should have bridged the gap as soon as Dorian told him about his father. He should be holding Dorian, comforting him. Instead, there was a chasm between them.

“So...you’ll truly be a magister?” said Tre when he could think of nothing else to say.

“Oh yes, I can’t wait to degrade the Magisterium with my presence. A new outfit is required.”

“And then what?”

“I find my father’s killers and I kill them back. Then I find those giving Tevinter a bad name and kill _them_. They’re most likely the same people, so that should make the job easier.”

Tre felt a spark of hope at that plan.

“You’ll need help. I could go with you.”

Dorian looked stricken once more.

“Not this time, amatus,” he said heavily. Tre didn’t ask why -- he already knew. Dorian needed to handle this on his own, and having his male lover by his side wouldn’t do him any favors in Tevinter. The spark of hope fizzled out.

“I won’t be entirely without support,” Dorian continued. “Maevaris has gathered other magisters who feel as we do. We’ll be an actual faction in the Magisterium. I’ll teach them manners. Take them shopping. It’ll be fun.”

“You don’t have to go back, Dorian,” said Tre in a final plea. “You put it behind you. You still could.”

“Give up a golden opportunity for martyrdom?” said Dorian, with a valiant attempt at his usual irreverence. “Perish the thought.”

Dorian reached into his pocket as he spoke and pulled out a small box.

“A present. A going away present,” said Dorian, handing Tre the box. “It’s a sending crystal. Amazing what friendship with the Inquisition gives you access to. If I get in over my head, or you’re overwhelmed with sorrow for lack of my velvety voice -- magic!”

Tre clutched the crystal tightly in his hands, his throat feeling tight once more. He pressed his lips together.

“What -- you didn’t think I would just leave and you’d never hear from me again, did you?” said Dorian, now taking a step toward Tre to bridge the space between them. “You are the man I love, amatus. Nothing will truly keep us apart.”

Dorian closed the gap between them, and their kiss, while passionate, felt heavier than their reunion had only a handful of hours before.

“Now let’s finish the good wine before the others get back.”

* * *

They got quite drunk. Dorian even managed to convince Tre that their long distance relationship might not be that bad. And with the alcohol numbing the pain, Tre was able to distance himself enough to be able to feel the pride he should that Dorian was going to try to make the world a better place. He toasted Dorian loudly and gushingly, much to the enjoyment of his friends, and much to the scandal of the the Orlesians.

“You’re going to lose your status as belle of the ball,” said Dorian in a low voice in his ear.

Tre downed the rest of his wine in one gulp.

“Take me to your room,” Tre said, and Dorian looked taken aback.

“Your rooms are undoubtedly nicer.”

“Take me to my rooms, then.”

“Back to being bossy, I see.”

“Are you complaining?”

In one fluid motion, Dorian finished his drink and lead Tre into the palace.

A short while later, Tre had pinned Dorian to his bed, straddled him, and rode him hard, allowing the alcohol to limit his inhibitions, to become more base and primal. He turned Dorian into a writhing, moaning wreck beneath him, and Tre reveled in it. _Good,_ he thought _, let him see what he’ll miss_. It gave him armor to think this way, it protected his heart from the truth.

Something which became far more difficult afterwards, lying in the dark, watching the sated form of Dorian sleeping soundly, thinking of all of the nights they would miss.

The rings sat in the pocket of his discarded coat on the floor.


	2. Chapter 2

It was easy enough for Tre to suppress his feelings while they were saving the world: there were Eluvians to comprehend, Qunari to fight, a dragon to free, and the betrayal of Solas to process. The spreading of the mark. The almost-dying. Again.

The loss of his arm.

And now, the disbanding of the Inquisition. Though the work never ended, not really -- there was still the problem of Solas. But the life that Tre had known was over. Nothing had turned out the way he had expected, or wanted.

A fact he was finally forced to confront when, while packing his bags to leave for Tevinter, Dorian found the rings.

Dorian had been folding clothes, talking a mile a minute to Tre, who had only been half paying attention to what he was saying (he had been practicing doing up the buttons on his shirt with one hand). Tre only looked up when he heard the soft but distinct thud of two rings hitting the floor and rolling across the tile to rest at his feet.

Dorian was holding Tre’s dress coat, eyes wide as he stared at the floor.

“What are those?” he asked. His tone was hushed, but the room was so still he might as well have yelled.

Tre didn’t answer.

“Mercutio --”

“Don’t,” said Tre, and he was surprised by the harshness of his own tone.

“How long have you had these?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Bollocks, it doesn’t matter -- are these _wedding_ rings?”

“It doesn’t MATTER!”

Tre yelled the last word with more vehemence than he had ever directed at Dorian before. Dorian stared with his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open.

“It matters,” said Dorian quietly.

“It DOESN’T!” yelled Tre. He felt his throat close and tears spring to his eyes. He felt helpless to stop them. “You’re _leaving_ , it’s _pointless_ \--”

“You want to marry me?” said Dorian, still quietly, disbelieving. “Do you?” he said more forcefully when Tre didn’t answer.

“I can’t -- you’re leaving, and -- I don’t even have a left hand,” sobbed Tre, sinking to the floor in front of the rings, cradling his stump of an arm.

 _This was all Varric’s fault_.

“Mercutio Trevelyan,” said Dorian firmly, dropping to his knees to be eye level with Tre. “Were you going to ask me to marry you?”

“Yes,” said Tre finally, miserably.

Dorian kissed him.

“Dor--”

“Shut up,” Dorian said against his mouth. “I love you. Just shut up and let me show you.”

So Tre shut up. He let Dorian undo the careful work he’d put into buttoning his shirt. He let Dorian fully undress him,  lead him to the bed, and lay him down. He surrendered himself to Dorian, and Dorian handled Tre like he was the most precious material in the universe -- not fragile, but worthy of worship and meant to be savoured. Dorian brushed his lips along Tre’s neck, his collarbone, his shoulder, multitasking as he reached for the oil on the bedside table; and as he pushed his fingers into Tre, he began to kiss down Tre’s left arm. Tre twitched, as if preparing to pull away, but Dorian gently held Tre’s arm in his free hand, bringing the stump to his lips, and kissing it with such tenderness that Tre felt cracked open and utterly exposed. He had never felt so raw and vulnerable, but he trusted Dorian with his whole heart. And Dorian kissed away his tears as he shifted Tre’s hips and pushed into him, his hands coming to rest on either side of Tre’s face, fingers curling around the back of his neck. As they moved together, Tre felt a connection that he knew no amount of distance would be able to truly sever.

And as the heat continued to build, Tre’s tears stopped, replaced with the unbridled joy that always came during sex with Dorian. They were just so _good_ at this, together. They knew each other bodies as if they were their own. Tre felt whole again, with Dorian inside of him. Tre came with a loud moan of Dorian’s name, and Dorian came not long after, mouth clamped around Tre’s shoulder.

They laid facing each other for a time, not speaking. Dorian continuing to caress various parts of Tre’s body with a reverence Tre was almost beginning to believe he deserved. Tre’s eyes traced the path of Dorian’s fingers until they eventually came to rest on the stump of Tre’s arm.

“I don’t know who I am anymore without it, Dorian,” Tre said, breaking the silence. “I’m not the Inquisitor. I’m not the Herald of Andraste. Who am I?”

“That’s bollocks,” said Dorian quietly, pressing their foreheads together and closing his eyes. “You’re the bravest man I know. And the most hard-headed. The most _wonderful_.” Dorian paused for a long, heavy moment. “My husband.”

“Dorian,” said Tre, because he could think of nothing else important.

Dorian rolled on top of Tre, reaching over him to the floor, and picking up the rings. He sat up, and Tre sat with him.

“But --” Tre started once more.

Dorian shushed him as he picked up Tre’s right hand, and slid the ring onto his finger.

“Nothing about us is traditional, Mercutio. Why should this be?”

Tre kissed him, long and slow, as he slid the ring onto Dorian’s right hand.

* * *

Thankfully, they were already mostly dressed (Dorian helping Tre button his shirt) when Sera barged into the room some time later.

“You’re taking my Widdle?!” she yelled as the door bounced off the wall with the sheer force in which she opened it.

“Sera, I’m not _taking_ Dagna against her will,” said Dorian patiently as he fastened the last of Tre’s buttons, pausing for a moment before deciding to deftly undue the three topmost ones again, creating a deep V. “She _asked_ if she could be of help to me in Tevinter, and I said --”

“You could’ve said no!” said Sera sharply. “ _Should’ve_ said no.”

“What’s this?” said Tre, knocking Dorian’s hand aside lovingly and redoing one of the buttons with his right hand. “Dagna’s going with you?”

“She approached me yesterday with a compelling argument,” said Dorian evenly. “I could use an arcanist like her, and there’s a lot she can learn from Tevinter. It’s a win-win.”

“For you, maybe!” sulked Sera.

“Dorian, could you give Sera and I a moment?” said Tre. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

“I’ll see if I can track down the good wine,” said Dorian, kissing Tre quickly before leaving.

“You’re not going to convince me this whole thing isn’t bollocks,” said Sera, crossing her arms and facing Tre.

“I wasn’t planning on trying to,” said Tre.

“Or that it’ll all be fine and dandy even though it could be months before I see her again.”

“Do I usually lie to you?”

“What do you want, then?”

“To make a proposition.”

Sera snorted.

“Is your mind ever not in the gutter?”

“Says the bloke who’s clearly just gotten stuffed.”

“Sera!”

Sera gestured over-dramatically to the disheveled bed, cackling uproariously.

“I regret this already,” said Tre, running a hand across his close-cropped hair.

“Out with it, then,” said Sera, after she had recovered from giggling.

“I want to be a Jenny.”

“Already done, mate.”

“No, I mean actively,” said Tre. “I want to really join the ranks. Collect intel. Travel. Me and you.”

All the laughter had left Sera’s face and she stared at Tre with her mouth slightly open.

“What, really?” she said when she saw that Tre was serious.

“Yes, really,” said Tre. “I was already thinking about it -- I’m going to need a good way to stay connected to a wide network, and I can’t think of a better group to help me. And now that Dagna and Dorian will both be in Tevinter...well, honestly, Sera, I think we could use each other.”

“You and me?” said Sera, walking to the desk and picking up a paperweight, moving it from hand to hand as if physically weighing the possibilities. “Taking to the rooftops?”

“Figuratively and literally, I suppose,” said Tre, who then yelled and threw his right hand up reflexively as Sera turned sharply and lobbed the paperweight straight at Tre’s head. Tre just managed to catch it before it his hit face.

“That was a test -- wait,” said Sera, her mischievous grin fading as she stepped to take a closer look at Tre’s hand. “Dorian had that ring on, as well.”

“You’re perceptive.”

“First lesson as a Jenny, pay attention,” said Sera, speaking slowly as if calculating something in her head. “Matching rings, shagging like nugs -- holy shit.”

“Sera -- wait --”

But Tre was too late; Sera had already turned heel and was sprinting down the hall yelling, “THE INQUISITOR GOT HITCHED!”

Tre pinched the bridge on his nose as he reached for the Sending crystal Dorian had given him.

“Er, Dorian,” he said tentatively -- he hadn’t used the crystal yet and wasn’t sure how it worked. It began to glow slightly, and a moment later, Tre heard Dorian’s answering response.

“Yes, love? Miss me that much already?”

“Just thought I should let you know -- Sera --”

“THE INQUISITOR GOT HITCHED!” came Sera’s distant yell in the background, emanating from the crystal, followed by several familiar voices gasping and rising in response with: “Well, I’ll be damned, Sparkles!” and “It’s about time!” and what sounded distinctly like Cassandra sobbing.

“Amatus, for love of the Maker, hurry down, Cassandra looks like she might try to hug me.”

Tre smiled as he tucked the crystal into his shirt and ran downstairs.

It wasn’t the quiet, intimate night that Tre and Dorian had been planning on spending walking under the stars while sharing a bottle of wine -- but Tre couldn’t deny it was nice, having his friends react so enthusiastically to his and Dorian’s union. Cassandra flung herself at Tre as he entered the room, throwing her arms around his neck and sobbing into his shoulder. Every time she pulled away to try and say something, she was overcome once more. Eventually, Bull lead her away and gave her a large mug of mulled wine, which Cassandra accepted gratefully.

Dorian put his arm around Tre’s waist as they sat together, drinking and listening as each of their friends stood to make a toast fit for their respective personalities: Varric’s was eloquent and witty; Sera’s lewd and mostly unintelligible; Bull’s boisterous and warm; Blackwall’s short, but surprisingly sincere; Cullen’s awkward and fumbling; Josephine’s regal and polished, despite being impromptu. Cole’s was less a toast as much as a whisper on the wind that nonetheless filled their hearts. Cassandra could barely hold it together long enough to say anything, but eventually managed a few phrases about the remarkable nature of love. Vivienne declined to speak, but Tre could tell it was because she was having an emotional moment of her own.

“I’m so happy for you, my dear,” she said in a hushed, almost choked voice as she leaned over to kiss Tre on the temple.

And as Tre looked to Dorian -- his husband -- he realized that “happy” was the perfect word. Tre couldn’t remember a time when he had felt this happy, this at peace. He breathed in slowly, relishing the moment, trying to capture every detail of Dorian’s profile, to trap this piece of time in the most precious chamber of his heart, to call upon in the future when he would surely need it.

* * *

In what felt like a blink of an eye, Tre was standing with Dorian in front of his carriage, saying goodbye -- although _saying_ wouldn’t be accurate. They weren’t speaking, just standing with their foreheads pressed together, arms around each other, existing for these treasured moments in each others’ space.

“Magister Pavus?” called the driver.

“I don’t know how I’m going to get used to that,” said Dorian quietly, not yet pulling away.

“I think you’ll fair just fine,” said Tre.

Dorian kissed him then, long and slow, clutching the back of Tre’s head tightly.

“It’s only temporary,” said Dorian when they parted.

Tre nodded, his throat tight. He kissed Dorian once more.

“You keep him safe,” Dorian called to Sera, who was a short ways away, saying goodbye to Dagna, standing on her knees so she could hug her properly.

“Duh,” came Sera’s muffled yell.

Dagna extricated herself from Sera’s arms and walked toward the carriage.

“I’m ready,” she said. Even though there were streaks of tears on her face from her goodbye to Sera, Dagna was positively vibrating with excitement.

“Contact me when you get to Tevinter?” said Tre, and Dorian nodded. With one last squeeze of Tre’s hand, Dorian climbed into the carriage after Dagna.

Sera came to stand next to Tre. Tre linked his arm through hers as the carriage began to pull away, Dagna leaning out of the window to wave goodbye, Sera simultaneously laughing and crying as she waved back. When the carriage was nearly out of sight, the crystal at Tre’s chest began to glow.

“I can still see you, I know you’re not in Tevinter,” Tre said in response to his name.

“I know, you dolt,” said Dorian affectionately. “I just -- I love you, Mercutio.”

“I love you, too, Dorian.”

The crystal dulled once more, and Tre pulled Sera closer, leaning the side of his head against hers.

“You know I’m going to steal that crystal every now and then, right?” Sera said.

“I figured.”

“And you know, I was thinking...there’s lots of places for a Jenny to go.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Who’s to say we won’t wind up in Tevinter?”

“One thing at a time,” said Tre, as the carriage curved out of sight.

“Inquisitor!”

Tre turned to see Varric rushing down the path, brandishing a letter.

“The Inquisition’s been disbanded,” Tre reminded him.

“Hard habit to break, Glowy!” amended Varric.

“His glow’s been cut off,” said Sera.

“Stumpy, then.”

“Well, that’s a little mean,” said Tre.

“I’ll work on it,” said Varric, coming to a stop in front of them, slightly breathless. “More important right now -- you’ll never guess who this is from.”

Varric thrust the letter at Tre, who took it.

On the page was a drawing of a complicated looking weapon -- a mix between a crossbow and a grappling hook. And it was designed perfectly to be an extension of Tre’s left arm. Scrawled underneath were the words:

_What can I say? I owed you one._

_-Bianca._

“Sera,” said Tre, his mouth forming into a grin. “I think I have our first stop.”


End file.
